


I was never yours to hold

by StrawberryLane



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Bookstores, Bruises, Friendship, M/M, Married Couple, Misunderstandings, Off-screen Relationship(s), POV Outsider, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryLane/pseuds/StrawberryLane
Summary: According to Credence, Percival Graves spends a lot of his time at work, leaving Credence at home with nothing to do. He doesn't want Credence to work, wants him at home at all times, like some glorified housewife. Credence haven't actually said all of this to Nathaniel out loud, he's too polite to speak ill of his husband in public like this, but Nathaniel knows this is what Credence means when he talks about his husband. He even calls him Percival, all formal and correct. Surely Percival would've been shortened to Percy if they'd been intimate at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on [this](http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=573387#cmt573387) prompt from the kinkmeme. 
> 
> [This](https://images6.alphacoders.com/712/712776.jpg) is what I imagine Credence looks like in this, sort of, but feel free to imagine him to look however you want him to.
> 
> The title to this fic is a line from a song called "Echoes" by Lauren Aquilina.
> 
> The name Pagett isn't something I've come up with on my own, it's actually the name of a character in Agatha Christie's book, The Man in the Brown Suit.
> 
> The marriage between Credence and Percival might be arranged, it might not. I'll leave that up to you.

Nathaniel meets Credence Barebone-Graves on a hot, damp day in June. They meet in Nathaniel’s bookstore on West 45th street, a humid place to be on what must be one of the warmest days of the year.

The humidness settling down over them like a blanket is the entire reason Nathaniel even goes over to the young man who's sitting in one of the armchairs in a corner, browsing through a stack of books in front of him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but would you like something to drink in this unbearable humidness that seems to have taken over today?"

The young man, nose buried deep in _The Man in the Brown Suit_ by Agatha Christie, startles so bad that a few of the books he's been balancing on his lap falls to the floor with a thud.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, bending down to pick the books up. More Agatha Christie, Nathaniel notes. Not a bad choice. He is suddenly stricken by how beautiful the other man is, from the brown eyes and the sharp cheekbones to the unruly mop of wavy hair on his head.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I startled you. Please accept my sincerest apologies," Nathaniel says. "Now, can I still interest you in a drink?"

"I'm all right, thank you, Mr..." the young man stops short, clearly trying to remember the name of the sign above the entrance to the bookstore.

"Nathaniel Pagett, at your service."

"... Mr Pagett," the young man says, a serious expression on his face.

"All right then," says Nathaniel when it becomes clear that the young man won't speak again.

He leaves his customer to his books, only lingering a little longer, to recommend more books by Agatha Christie.

Half an hour later, when Nathaniel is sitting at his desk, desperately trying to get the air around him to move by waving a leaflet around in the air above his head and the young man is the only customer left in his stuffy shop, the golden bell above the door chimes, letting Nathaniel know that he has another customer. Nathaniel groans and wishes that moving didn't require, well, actually moving.

Once he's actually gotten himself out of his seat and steps out into the open space at the front of the store, the one where there's a seating area in case you want to read or just check out the books before buying them, the one where the beautiful young man is seated, he is greeted by said young man getting up, juggling five different books. There's another man standing in front of the young man that Nathaniel in only the last half hour has already begun to think of as _his._ This other, new man, is an older gentleman, dressed in an impeccable dark suit. His brown hair is in a styled 'do. This is obviously a man who cares about his appearance.

Nathaniel clears his throat to announce his presence. The older gentleman turns around, throwing an uninterested glance at Nathaniel. The young man, on the other hand, gives a small smile.

"I was just about to go find you, Mr Pagett," he says. "I'd very much like to purchase these books, if I may."

"Of course you can, sir," says Nathaniel, leading the way back to his desk, so that he can look up prices and actually put the money in the cash register. He watches the two men as he wraps the books into brown paper. They both wear, he notices, rings that are glinting in the sunlight.

Married, perhaps?

Nathaniel watches them leave with a feeling he can't really place. It's not really sadness, he thinks, because he doesn’t know these people, but something more like an urge to see them, the younger man especially, again.

Greta, the young woman who Nathaniel employs to help him out at busy times, knows everybody, or at least knows of everybody. So when she comes into the shop the following Wednesday, Nathaniel asks her, discreetly, because the girl can't keep a secret to save her life, if she knows who the two gentlemen were, and describes them to the best of his abilities. He desperately needs to know who the young man is. The need is settling down into his bones, making him restless and stressed about nothing and everything at the same time.

Greta is, thankfully, successful. A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend knows the couple personally, she says. The young man's name is Credence and his husband, because yes, they are married, is Percival Graves, a very important person working for the American Government.

They got married early in the year, after a very short engagement. Too short, according to the friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, apparently.

"It's not the best match, according to my source," Greta says, because she likes being a little shit and not reveal her gossiping friends as, well, gossiping people.

"Why not?" Nathaniel asks, like he knows Greta is dying for him to do.

"It might be an arranged marriage? I don't know, really. All I know is their relationship got off to a rocky start. My source said Credence has always been very sheltered, whatever that means."

Off to a rocky start and very sheltered? Sure, it's been months since the beginning of the year, but Nathaniel is a man who knows to work with what he has. And an impressionable young man with a complicated relationship to his lawfully wedded husband? Time to turn the charm on.

Nathaniel spends the next couple of weeks sneaking glances every time the bell above the door to his shop sounds, discreetly checking to see if it's the boy making his return. He spends more money than he can really afford on hair products, pomade and cologne. He makes sure to dress sharp every day, but not too sharp, because while he wants the young man to notice him, he doesn't want to remind the man of his husband.

His patient waiting is finally rewarded one rainy afternoon in the beginning of August. There's a storm brewing in the air, but so far it's mostly raining cats and dogs.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel says when he hears the bell above the door chime, "I'm afraid we're just about to close," it's not just because he's feeling absolutely done with dealing with people today that he's entertaining the thought of shutting the shop down early, no sir, no truth to be found there.

"Oh," responds the voice that Nathaniel has been hearing in his dreams every night for the last four weeks. "I guess I'll come back tomorrow, then."

Nathaniel's head shoots up, a negative reply already forming on his lips, when he catches sight of Credence, standing in the doorway.

The man's dark coat has a pool of water forming on the ground underneath it. He's shivering, clutching his hat in his hands, his face pale as snow, expect for the vivid color of the bruise currently marring his chiseled jaw. It's not a big bruise, by any means, but it stands out against the paleness of the man's skin, clear to see for anyone who takes a second look.

"No, no. Come on inside, Mr...?"

There's a beat of silence and then the young man stutters, "Barebone-Graves, Mr Pagett."

"Come inside, Mr Barebone-Graves, you'll catch your death if you stand around in that soaked coat."

Credence Barebone-Graves takes a couple of hesitant, shuffling steps until he's standing fully inside Nathaniel's little bookstore. "I thought you were closing?" he asks, confusion clear in his voice.

"Well, yes, I was. But then you turned up, looking like a drowned cat, and I just couldn't let you go back outside in this weather. You're welcome to a cup of tea and a seat in one of my cozy armchairs until you've dried off, if you want. I'm just going to close the shop, because I'll doubt there will be more customers today."

Credence looks at him, mouth opening to begin performing words.

"Really, it's no bother," Nathaniel assures him. "Let me take your coat and hang it up to dry."

After shedding his coat, the young man lets Nathaniel guide him to the seating area in the corner. "I'll be right back with a cup of tea," Nathaniel tells Credence once the younger man has sat down, his back rigid like he's in church.

Nathaniel quickly puts the coat away to dry, fixes two cups of tea and steals a bunch Greta's emergency cookies. It looks nice on the tray, at least.

Credence is waiting just where Nathaniel left him, clearly trying to take up as little space as possible.

Nathaniel doesn't know a lot about Percival Graves, but what he's seen so far makes him happy he's never properly met the man. Clearly this whole being married thing doesn't work for the couple. Percival Graves is so much older than his young husband too – they can't have much in common. It must be a terribly boring life for poor Credence.

Nathaniel serves the tea and makes a point of sitting down as close enough to the other man as he dares, but still far away enough that if anyone saw them it wouldn't look inappropriate. Nathaniel wants nothing more than to move in closer, to drag the younger man into his space, until they're so entangled one can't tell where one of them begins and the other one begins.

But he doesn't, because he's got self control.

Credence is oblivious to Nathaniel's fight with himself, sipping his tea and nibbling on a cookie in small bites, as if to make it last longer. When he catches Nathaniel looking at him, he flushes, mistaking the amused look on Nathaniel's face for something else entirely. "I'm sorry," he apologies, "I've never had much sweet things before."

"Go ahead," Nathaniel tells him, nudging the plate of cookies closer to Credence, "I've got plenty more. Take as many as you want."

Credence smiles at that, an actual, honest smile, instead of those polite ones you smile just because you need to be polite to strangers. He gingerly takes another cookie and starts to nibble on this one too. Nathaniel tries very hard to direct his own attention to anything other than Credence's mouth, because the young man's lips are very distracting and Nathaniel wants desperately to feel them against his own.

*

Credence leaves once the rain has calmed down a little, thanking Nathaniel profusely for providing him with a hot drink and dry cookies, and Nathaniel watches him go with a heavy feeling in his stomach. Credence is going back to his husband, of whom he didn't utter a single word in the two hours him and Nathaniel spent together, the husband who most likely is the cause of the bruise marring Credence's perfect face. Nathaniel can't fathom why Credence would chose to return to such a man, he really can't.

The third time Credence visits his store is a cool day in September and Nathaniel is busy rearranging his display window. This time the young man is dressed in a sharp suit of his own, clearly his husband's influence, with a matching hat.

"Good morning, Mr Barebone-Graves," Nathaniel tells him, enjoying the way the younger man smiles in a greeting. That smile does things to him, honestly.

"On the hunt for more Agatha Christie books?" Nathaniel asks teasingly when the man goes straight for the mystery section.

"Yes. I quite liked _Poirot Investigates_."

"It's your lucky day then. I've just got a new book the other day; _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd._ Just finished reading it myself actually. Absolutely splendid."

Credence ends up staying in the shop for four whole hours, curled up in one of the armchairs reading, while Nathaniel pretends to busy himself with his display window. What he really wants to do is go over to the other man and kiss him senseless.

They keep up pretenses like that for all of Credence's visits to the bookshop, though the young man opens up a little more each time. He flirts more, subtle little things Nathaniel wouldn't have picked up if he wasn't looking for them, but they are there all right.

According to Credence, Percival Graves spends a lot of his time at work, leaving Credence at home with nothing to do. He doesn't want Credence to work, wants him at home at all times, like some glorified housewife. Credence haven't actually said all of this to Nathaniel out loud, he's too polite to speak ill of his husband in public like this, but Nathaniel knows this is what Credence means when he talks about his husband. He even calls him Percival, all formal and correct. Surely Percival would've been shortened to Percy if they'd been intimate at all. Nathaniel and Credence only in the last six months, and Credence is already calling him Nate.

"Does Percival know about me?" Nathaniel asks one afternoon, when they're enjoying afternoon tea in the small, cramped back room of the store. Credence's brow furrows for a minute at Nathaniel's question.

"Why, yes. Of course he does."

Nathaniel falters a bit at the answer, but Credence lets out a quick laugh. "The look on your face!" he suddenly grows serious. "You don't mind do you? He'll probably want to meet you at some point. I told him that right now, though, I'll get to keep you to myself for a bit."

*

For Credence's last visit to the store (not that they know that it'll be his last visit until later), he shows up sporting another bruise, this time an ugly deep purple around his right eye. He laughs it off when Nathaniel makes concerned noises, gingerly touching his eyelid.

"It's nothing," he says, "I've had way worse."

They're sitting next to each other in the back room once again, sharing a pot of tea and a bunch of Greta's cookies, much like the second time Credence visited, when Nathaniel makes his move. He's careful about it, putting one hand on top of Credence's own, slowly inching closer and closer, until their faces are almost, almost touching. He moves his other hand up to cup Credence's cheek, slowly, lovingly moving his fingers across the sharp cheekbone. Credence slowly breathes out, a puff of warm air ghosting over Nathaniel's face.

The air is filled with tension.

"What are you doing?" Credence sounds unsure, the insecure little boy from the beginning of their friendship making his appearance once again.

"Kissing you. I thought that would be obvious," Nathaniel whispers.

"But I'm married," Credence protests, pulling back, away from Nathaniel.

"I know," Nathaniel tells him, because oh, does he know. He's well aware of the golden ring permanently attached to Credence's left hand.

"So why are you kissing me?" Credence asks, and his voice is growing stronger once again.

Now it's Nathaniel who's confused.

"I thought this was what you wanted? You've been... You've been giving me hints for months."

Has he really been reading the signs so wrong?"

Credence flushes and his skin suddenly looks clammy underneath the yellow light of the lamp. "I didn't mean to," he says. "This was never my intention."

"Then what was it?" Nathaniel can feel himself growing defensive, like he always does when things don't go his way.

"I just... I thought you were my friend. I thought you were happy being my friend."

"I am," Nathaniel lies, because he wants so much more. "I must have misinterpreted your talking about your husband. I thought I could give you the happiness you deserve."

"What are you talking about? I'm very happy."

"But your marriage is loveless! You've said so yourself."

"I haven't. When have I ever said I wasn't happy with Percival?" Credence is flushing again, but this time there's a glimmer of anger in his eyes instead of embarrassment.

"You've told me countless of times. He's always at work, he's never home, he wants you to stay at home all day. That doesn't sound like a happy relationship to me."

"I've never said those things. I've mentioned his tendency to work too long hours, but never have I said he wants me to stay home all day. If he did, I wouldn't be here right now."

"But he beats you."

"What? You think Percival did this?" Credence touches the purple skin around his eye once again. "He would never. He's not the one who did this, trust me on that." The last sentence is uttered in a low, urgent tone of voice. Credence's practically begging him not to assume things about Percival Graves.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence after this, until Credence suddenly stands up, a determined look on his face.

"I have to go," he says, as he retrieves his coat and his hat. "It's been nice knowing you, Mr Pagett, but I don't think we'll be seeing each other again. Thank you for this insightful conversation, though. I'll be sure to tell the next person I meet exactly how much I love my husband and how much he loves me."

With those words, Credence Barebone-Graves walks out of Nathaniel Pagett's life, never to encounter each other again.

Years later, when Nathaniel is contentedly married to Greta and has four kids, all under the age of seven, he opens his newspaper one morning to see the official announcement of Percival Graves as the new President of Wizarding America. There's a photo of the man and his husband standing on a podium, staring at each other. They look happy, both wearing blinding, adoring smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!


End file.
